I forget.
I remember and forget
and remember again.

One day,
When all the mystique of idiocy
Has rubbed off life
Like gold lacquer from oak,
I’ll forget so wholeheartedly
(Or remember so completely)
That I will forget to not dance
And remember my home
Beyond memory and forgetting
- the place where you are waiting
With your hands of milk and stars.

I know you are waiting there,
But I’m too fascinated still
By the twisted mirrors in this hall.
I know the sun is shining where you wait
And the air is sweet as only
Coming home can be.

One day, I will go towards there,
But, I will not be there to arrive.
Only my dancing:
The footsteps of fire on water,
The everlasting bird that flies through the Earth.